


feel (something in your heart)

by stellarisms



Series: 2020 Writing Challenge [9]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (unless...:3), Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Introspection, Mentor/Protégé, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarisms/pseuds/stellarisms
Summary: “I just hope,” Yuuri exhales, like a sigh, and those big dark eyes meet Victor’s with determination, “I haven’t disappointed you.”“Don’t worry.”  If Victor’s resting hand should linger over the length of Yuuri’s arm as he rises to exit the bath, well-- all incidental.  Pure coincidence.  “You won’t.”“I...won’t?”  It sounds like a question.Knowing Yuuri, it probably is.Towel in hand, a full turn later, Victor’s answer comes with a reassuring smile.“You won’t.  And I’m sure you never will.”
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: 2020 Writing Challenge [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588921
Kudos: 13





	feel (something in your heart)

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtGALrvqJWY + https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-ONycYf7EI
> 
> fun fact: this was written over a year ago but - incomplete or not - worked SO well for interpreting the "jump" prompt...i decided to just run with it and post :') 
> 
> hope yall enjoy and get to take your own flying lea(jum)p into something great this weekend <3

Victor Nikiforov is not an impulsive person.

He knows that much about himself well enough.

He knows himself...well enough. 

Most twenty-somethings on an established career path  _ would _ .

And Victor Nikiforov is nothing if not established. 

A reigning title, returned five times over. 

An apartment of his own, owned for almost seven years. 

A reputation to uphold, re-envisioned every time he appears on the ice.

* * *

And yet, these days, Victor Nikiforov is unsure.

Unstable.

His heart doesn’t skip beats anymore for the sport he once thrived on.

His pragmatic heart won’t let it happen. 

Not any longer.

His metaphorical hourglass funnels sand, furiously, into the rock-bottom floor of his potential.

All this and more, Victor knows about himself.

He knows this well -- and, if apathy hadn’t taken hold of his emotions first, Victor would be afraid.

He  _ is _ afraid.

He’s learned over the years how to hide fear from those who would turn it into a weapon, turn it against you.

Under the blinding glare of camera flashbulbs and public scrutiny, Victor finds he’s most afraid of the fear that lies within himself.

Most afraid, too, of the self-depreciating monster that whittles at his crystalline heart, already foreseen to fracture at a moment’s notice.

* * *

But these things are not what stop Victor Nikiforov’s ever-enduring heartbeat.

Not fear.

Not apathy.

Not uncertainty.

Quite the contrary, what his gaze falls -- and lingers -- upon is not only what stops him in his tracks.

Victor Nikiforov, for the first time in forever, feels a shift under his feet instead. 

* * *

‘Pause.’

‘Play.’

‘Refresh.’

Again, he thinks.

Again.

_ Again. _

* * *

(Ah, but. 

Really.

This is.

This is-- )

* * *

“Without accompaniment,” Victor hums. Places his phone on the coffee table beside him. Pets his dozing pet poodle behind his floppy ears. Reclines further back on his sofa with his eyes staring skyward. “Amazing. Incredible. Who the hell even  **does** that?”

No one answers.

His voice -- and his laugh -- echoes from the high ceiling of his one-person suite.

He knows the name, circulated around the small self-contained world of figure skating world, though he’s never known much more than that.

“Katsuki Yuuri.”

It isn’t the first time, nor the last, Victor Nikiforov will say his name with absolute wonder.

* * *

  
  
Victor Nikiforov is a forgetful person.

Everyone who knows him knows  _ that _ .

Victor’s heard more than his fair share of fault-finding. 

About his career track, about himself. 

From fans, from critics, from his own coach.

How his time in the limelight won’t grant him tailwinds to fly free forever.

How his lack of personal investment will come back to bite him later on.

How his narrow focus, his flightiness, will be his greatest bane someday. 

He’s heard it all -- and then some.

Victor Nikiforov is tired, tired,  _ tired  _ of hearing them talk about him.

Like they know him.

Like they care.

* * *

Victor knows himself -- more than well -- enough to know what he needs to do.

* * *

He disentangles himself from Makkachin shifted from sleep in his lap.

He apologizes to the snuffling poodle for startling him awake, snatching up his phone.

Opens his memos.

Swipes down the list until he finds what he’s looking for.

_ *✧˖°Travel Itinerary + Numbers To Call! °˖✧ * _

While he waits for IATA to go through their automatic service prompts, Victor heads right for his room.

Makkachin pads after him, panting.

“Okay,” Victor says out loud -- to no one in particular, though he glances back at Makkachin as he does. “Hasetsu, here I come!” 

* * *

Face to face, belatedly, only then does Victor think to bring up (his version of) why he came to meet Katsuki Yuuri.

He brings it up, apologizes for it, a week after they meet.

_ ‘A commemorative photo?’ Sochi Grand Prix? Remember? _

He feels a bit guilty for lying, with good intentions or not. 

_ C-Can we… not bring that up again, please? _

This isn’t, technically, the first time their paths have crossed.

_ Why?  _

He asks that question a lot, ever since he came to Japan.

_ Because. It was a, um, really...really bad time for me, mentally. I’d rather not think about it. _

Ever since he met Katsuki Yuuri, Victor asks that question more than ever.

_ If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think much of it at the time.  _

Back then, anyway.

_ That’s…probably not something you should admit to, Victor. _

And now -- they can laugh about it.

_ Maybe. But we should be that level of honest and open with each other. Coaches and their students always are! _

Now--

_ True. That-- is what you’re here for, after all. Right? T-To coach me and get me ready for next season. _

Victor smiles.

_ Exactly. Next season’s start will be here before we know it, so let’s work hard until then, alright?  _

Yuuri--

_ Y-Yessir, you’ve got it! I promise I won’t let you down. _

* * *

(“Why,” whispers Victor to an unfamiliar ceiling, to his futon blanket and Makkachin’s head resting on his chest, “doesn’t Yuuri smile like that all the time?”)

* * *

Victor Nikiforov never liked school very much.

Rote memorization. 

Routine. 

Classes and homework and studying -- revisit, recycle, repeat.

Striving to rise above the rest while also trying not to stand out too much. 

Constant reminders to conform, conform,  **conform** .

Victor was a good student, but he  _ hated  _ that.

He still does.

But he always did figure he’d make a better teacher, if he ever had the chance to teach someone.

As for Yuuri…

Yuuri was a good student.

Although, with no real comparative, how can Victor compare him to anyone else? 

Better yet, why was he comparing Yuuri with anyone in the first place?

Katsuki Yuuri, twenty-three going on twenty-four, was nothing like Victor imagined he would be.

He tells him as much, their second week going on third week spent working together, while they’re soaking in the bath before dinner.

“I-Is that,” Yuuri balks, done thrashing about like a drowning animal, “a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Which do you think it is?” Victor quips, mirthful.

Yuuri, already flushed from spending this much time in steaming water, lowers his gaze.

“I’m not sure,” Yuuri stutters. “Part of me says one thing, and the other part--”

“Which one,” Victor leans forward, “do you want it to be?”

Their shoulders brush.

Yuuri looks up at Victor.

Hesitant, at first.

“I just hope,” Yuuri exhales, like a sigh, and those big dark eyes meet Victor’s with determination, “I haven’t disappointed you.” 

Yuuri…is a good student.

A very good student.

“Don’t worry.” If Victor’s resting hand should linger over the length of Yuuri’s arm as he rises to exit the bath, well-- all incidental. Pure coincidence. “You won’t.”

“I...won’t?” It sounds like a question. 

Knowing Yuuri, it probably is.

Towel in hand, a full turn later, Victor’s answer comes with a reassuring smile.

“You won’t. And I’m sure you never will.”

* * *

Of course, he’s all but forgotten their conversation by the next day.

Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri’s coach,  _ has  _ to forget about it -- so they can resume their routine of practice and review.

Until September arrives.

* * *

(Victor Nikiforov, the person who saw a light in Katsuki Yuuri brighter than anything else, who felt his heart skip a beat the first time Yuuri smiled at him,  _ can’t _ forget.

And that, Victor supposes, will truly be his biggest vice.)


End file.
